


Figgy Pudding

by crookedneighbour



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Bodily Fluids, Enemas, Figging, Holiday Fic Exchange, Holidays, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Incest, Inappropriate Use of a Cornucopia, M/M, Porn With Plot, Punishment, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, Vomiting, disgusting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 22:03:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13199463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedneighbour/pseuds/crookedneighbour
Summary: Ramsay Bolton ruins the holiday dinner.Incest is quite minimal in this one/only in chapter 2 so you can just read the thramsay in chapter 1 if desired.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> I really went all in on this one. Shout out to stannissucks, tender-vittles, and wetwasteofagirl for all the support.

It was the fourth night of Seven’s Graces. Theon Greyjoy had spent snowy nights watching the older Starks light candles take turns lighting a candle for each of their mother’s gods; Sansa the night of the Maiden, Robb the young Warrior, Bran for the Smith, Catelyn as the fitting Mother, Arya the sly Crone, and even Jon Snow, beneath Catelyn Stark’s hard stare, lit a candle to the stranger. On the fourth night Eddard took the place of the Father begrudgingly, but it clearly brought his wife great joy. It always frightened Theon to see Eddard speak of justice and judgment. Some day it would be his head on Eddard’s block.

And yet his childhood fear had never come to pass. Eddard Stark was dead, Robb Stark was dead, and Theon Greyjoy was perhaps even dead. The Iroborn said that which was dead may never die, but they had no winter. True ironborn spent their winters reaving, gambling, and drinking along southern shores. 

It was the fourth night of Seven’s Graces and a sad broken man known as Reek sat across from a different father’s bastard. His Riverlands wife, Walda had placed seven candles in the window and taken to lighting them herself. She’d very kindly offered Reek the chance to light one, but without Ramsay’s permission it seemed unwise. The Bolton’s kept the Old Ways and the fourth night this year coincided with the Deep Night Promising, which came far less often than the annual prayer as the winter lengths were unpredictable. 

For Ramsay it was the eve of the Deep Night Promise alone. His father always insisted on dragging them all out into the woods to make promises of loyalty. Ramsay couldn’t care less about some stupid old tradition, but doing it was better than hearing his dad go on and on about how gifts were a way of forming pacts and the significance of knowing one’s betters. Walda had insisted on some southern tradition, and decorated the dining table that sat in the kitchen with a massive cornucopia, which was infinitely better than his father’s health obsessed cooking.

Walda has made turkey with gravy, potatoes, rosemary and slices of orange that lay in the greasy juices. His father had made a kale salad with walnuts and strawberries, which Ramsay would rather not touch. The cornucopia was bursting with decorative ivy, ginger, oranges, several homemade mason jars of cranberry sauce, cinnamon sticks bound in ribbon, and both dark brown and light green pears. Seven different items for the seven facets of their bullshit gods. 

His dad and Walda were out collecting firewood for the fireplace. Ramsay and Reek has snuck into the kitchen to exchange gifts early and taste of the cornucopia’s splendor before Roose and Walda returned. His father was always policing what he ate and it was utterly annoying.

“I hope Walda finds my father’s Wood so he’s less of a prick this year,” Ramsay teased. He’d packed Reek’s present in a dark red box with silvery white ribbon around it. He didn’t want his father seeing what he’d gotten, as surely he’d disapprove. 

Ramsay slid the box down the length of the table, barely avoiding the turkey, then plucked an orange from the cornucopia. Reek practically jumped as it moved towards him.

“You didn’t think I’d forgotten to get you something, did you?” Ramsay asked. He pulled out his switchblade and carefully began to free the soft inner flesh of the orange from its skin.

“No. Of course not. I’m just touched you think I deserve one. I’ve been very bad this year,” Reek replied, nervously fiddling with the ribbons.

“Go on. Open it. It’s going to be a lot of fun for us,” Ramsay urged. He’d put Reek in an old dark red sweater of his that was far too large for him, with holes towards the end of the sleeves. Ramsay had worn khakis and a dark green sweater. His father couldn’t say they didn’t look the part.

Ramsay sunk into the orange happily as Reek finally separated the lid from the box. It was sweet and not too tangy, and pleasantly seedless.

“I don’t… What is it…?”

For what a coy whore Reek could be, it was surprising how little he knew about such things. He made up for it in enthusiasm, but still….

Reek pulled the large pump enema from the box, and cautiously pressed down on the button atop it.

“I thought the turkey shouldn’t be the only thing we serve with gravy tonight, Reek. I know you love to have my cock and cum inside you and thought you’d like a new way to take it,” Ramsay explained, wiping the sticky juice from the orange off on the tablecloth. Even describing his plan to Reek was getting him hard.

Reek looked nervous. He could get cold feet so suddenly, but it was the time of year Ramsay ought to be generous with such a poor soul.

“You’ll need to be warmed up first, but I know just the thing to get you nice and hot for me. Bend over the table, close your eyes, and drop your pants,” Ramsay ordered.

Reek obeyed. Ramsay sounded in good spirits and Roose would be home soon enough to end their games. All he could hope was that if he made it swift Roose wouldn’t catch him in a compromised state. The house was relatively warm but undressed, his legs and ass felt chilly. Ramsay moved from the table and Reek heard the soft ragged noise of him cutting through something, followed by the pop of a mason jar being opened.

Reek shivered as Ramsay’s hand lay gently on his rear. He knew what Ramsay’s idea of foreplay was like and tried to relax. Ramsay spread him, humming to himself as he did so.

“This is something I’ve only read about before. I hope you appreciate I’m trying something new for you.”

With his eyes shut, Ramsay’s touch was amplified. His inner and outer sphincters both clenched reflexively.

“Yes, sir,” Reek answered.

Ramsay’s fingers were coated with something cold, thick, and slimy as he began to spread him open. They’d fucked plenty that week with the time off from work and university, so it had gotten easier to accommodate him. Reek whined with alarm as Ramsay began to insert something thinner but flared into him. It stung to take it inside, but not just from the size but the material itself, like getting rubbing alcohol or lemon juice on a cut. Ramsay has lived up to his word though as he felt hot there as well. His legs trembled with the new discomfort. It wasn’t Ramsay’s worst, but it was a mixture of both pleasure and agony as opposed to Ramsay’s usual sheer brutality.

“It’s called figging. I hope Walda doesn’t mind I’ve started on her cornucopia.”

Reek bit down on his lip and tried to stifle a groan, as the burning grew stronger. Ramsay’s hands rested possessively on his thin hips, massaging the area where his stomach and groin met.

Ramsay’s pelvis pressed against his, and he released Reek from his right hand. He could hear the sound of Ramsay dragging something on the table closer and fussing with the glassware. Then Ramsay was gone, and scuffling throughout the kitchen.

The dining table sat in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by counter space and appliances along three of the four walls, the fourth wall being connected to the foyer by an open archway. In other words, if Roose returned they would be in plain sight.

“That reminds me. Are you hungry, Reek? I thought you might be so I thought I’d make you something in the meantime,” Ramsay sighed.

“….You’re too kind,” Reek mumbled. He’d started to squirm against his own will, and he’d formed his fists into tight balls to endure the pain. The arousal in him was its own kind of agony as well. To think he enjoyed what Ramsay put him through, perhaps Ramsay had been right about him this whole time.

Ramsay rifled through the drawers of his father’s kitchen with a loud clatter, followed by the sound of liquids being poured into something. Reek yelped as the loud buzz of the blender began. Perhaps Ramsay was going to poison him. That would be not so bad and end, and preferable to whatever he planned to put in the enema bag.

Ramsay studied the contents of the blender thoughtfully. He’d included some of the gravy, cranberry sauce, lube, and a bit of warm water. That seemed the best way to do this based on the couple of Google searches he did that afternoon. Reek was proving rather distracting, waggling and groaning at the head of the table. He’d have to prove he could be good for Ramsay before he fucked him. Ramsay transferred as much of the mixture into the enema bag as he could and cast off his pants and underwear. He was hard already from the way Reek was practically begging to be fucked. He shrugged and tentatively tried smearing the cranberry sauce across his erection and the bare crack of his ass. It didn’t feel bad.

“…Ramsay?” Reek called out softly.

“Coming, sweetheart. Don’t you worry,” Ramsay cooed. “I hope you’re ready for how generous I’m feeling.”

Ramsay returned to Reek’s side, and tugged the ginger from inside him with a few easy wiggling motions.

“Open your eyes and mouth, Reek. And swallow it all.”

Reek grimaced as Ramsay shoved the now sticky piece of ginger into his mouth. It tasted bitter and unpleasantly spicy, but it was always better to swallow whatever Ramsay told him to. He looked at the cornucopia, tears forming in his eyes. It had become a blur of brown, orange, and red, the bright lights of the kitchen becoming vague yellowy white crosses.

“Oh you like that don’t you? You’ve got a filthy mouth and tongue, do you?” Ramsay purred. His cock was pressed against Reek’s bare ass. Bent over, Reek could feel the heft of each piece of ginger traveling down his throat. His stomach gurgled as he made his way through the repulsive task. 

Ramsay took to lubricating the tip of the nozzle as Reek finished the ginger. He knew Reek might struggle at first, but this was a new way to prove his love. The nozzle was far smaller than the ginger, so slid in with little effort. Reek had become such size queen he barely seemed to notice.

Reek was oddly grateful his cock was gone. He would have loathed for Ramsay to see it stiffen over something like this. The burn of ginger remained in his mouth and had for better or for worse overpowered whatever else (he dare not dwell on that) he had tasted.

The tears had stopped for now. The pressure inside him was unlike anything he’d felt with Ramsay. It felt like he needed to relieve himself, and yet it was coming from the wrong end. He began to count the visible oranges in the cornucopia. Sometimes counting in smaller sets of seven helped as well.

“Don’t even think about fucking up my dad’s kitchen by shitting this out,” Ramsay snarled. “When I pull it out I want you to turn around.”

Reek shivered as the nozzle was removed from him. He turned to face Ramsay slowly; afraid he may leak if he moved the wrong way. Ramsay smiled at him proudly, placing the enema bag on the table. Reek had yet to see he was naked from the waste down and had generously slathered his erection with cranberry sauce 

“Do you like your gift?” Ramsay asked. His eyes drifted down to Reek’s thighs.

“It was very thoughtful,” Reek lied. Ramsay would probably know he was lying, but it was better than complaining. Complaining would have him thrashed and beaten. Ramsay stroked the side of his face gently. Perhaps he’d get away with it after all.

“You know what good thoughtful pets do? They get on their knees and eat their master’s ass when they’re bid.”

Reek’s heart dropped in his chest, and yet he knelt never the less. Ramsay’s legs were thick with muscle and sturdy to hold onto. The sauce spread across his bare ass was not entirely surprising, but the whole thing would be a sticky unpleasant affair.

Reek’s tongue was warm against the flesh of his inner thigh. He’d learned to make his way slowly to Ramsay’s asshole and to coil his damaged hands around the girth of his cock.

“That’s right. Get your tongue in there. I know you want a bit of that jellied donut.”

Ramsay leaned back into Reek’s face, happy to let his pet tend to him. His left hand gently cradled and squeezed his testicles as his right hand reverently traveled his length. Ramsay allowed himself a long pleased groan as Reek’s tongue proved against his entrance. He didn’t want the whore thinking he could get off too easy.

“Keep that up for me, Reek? I wouldn’t want to have to ruin what’s been a very nice night….”

Ramsay imagined what Reek would look like with his father’s carving fork stuck in him, nailed to the table and leaking filth from his ass.

“Well maybe it wouldn’t ruin my night,” Ramsay corrected himself.

Reek whimpered between the cheeks of Ramsay’s ass. It was better to keep at his task to stop to plead. The pressure in his ass was building and he was uncertain how much longer he could hold the contents of the enema. Ramsay’s cock was hard to work, whatever Ramsay had thought, it was not a good lubricant and felt sticky and unpleasant mixed with the pre-cum that had dripped from his circumcised head. Ramsay had referenced this phenomenon as ‘the weeping flayed man’ on more than one occasion. Slathered with the sauce the appearance of it now certainly met the name.

The thick sauce made eating him out nicer, he could focus on the sharp tangy taste to ground him and keep his mind from drifting. Too often when he lay with Ramsay his mind ruptured, the past, the Starks, and two lifetimes of regret bleeding together with the all too cruel present.

“I think I’d like to finish across your face tonight. I know I haven’t in a while and I’m sure you miss it terribly. Hands to the side, and open mouth,” Ramsay commanded. He sounded bored. Reek’s teeth clenched nervously as he pulled back.

Ramsay looked down at Reek carefully. His face and hands were a mess, but his thighs were good and clean still. Coming across his face would be a waste in the moment. He could save that for before bed.

“Oh, Reek,” he sighed happily. “You held that ass nice and tight for me. I’ve been far too hard on you, haven’t I? I’d love to fuck you now, with how tight you must be. I don’t care if it makes a mess. You’ve just been such a good boy for me.”

Ramsay towered over him, his pale eyes flicking over Reek’s bare body. He wet his lips and peeled his sweater from his torso.

“Up on the table and spread your legs. I want a taste of that pudding first,” Ramsay snarled.

Reek scrambled to oblige him, gripping the table to brace himself. He was careful to tilt his ass towards Ramsay to avoid his ire.

Reek’s legs were thin and heavily scarred. Ramsay gripped him by the knees and kissed his way down to the curve of his ass.

Reek shook his head. Ramsay told him not to spill it didn’t he? It was unclear if this counted. Ramsay loved all manner of tricks.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to make a mess. You said—“

Ramsay’s nails dug into his knees.

“I said I want a taste, and you’ll do as your told or I’ll use more teeth than you bargained for,” Ramsay interrupted, his breath tickling Reek in the most intimate of places.

Ramsay’s mouth was hot and wet around his asshole, and his tongue teased over his clenched entrance. Reek tried to focus on the coming relief. Emptying a little in Ramsay’s mouth would surely be worth the relief. Ramsay tugged him closer as Reek loosened his muscles, Ramsay lapping at the fluid as it left him.

Ramsay gave him a light tap on the ass to gesture to stop. He shifted their positions slightly, now standing upright with the tip of his cock now pressed towards Reek’s entrance, which had grown slick with saliva, and the ruddy mixture of the blended items and fecal matter Ramsay had taken into his mouth. Reek’s thighs ached as Ramsay pressed his weight against his legs and scooped Reek into an open mouthed kiss, yet to fully clear his mouth of the foul mixture.

Reek gagged as Ramsay’s tongue sloshed about between his lips, knowing full well Roose and Walda would probably return soon. Reek stomached the taste as best he could, the mix thinner due to the water, but still repulsively lumpy. Ramsay pulled back with a self-satisfied grin.

“You like tasting your own ass, don’t you Reek?” he asked. All Reek could do was nod along. Things likely couldn’t get much worse.

“Thank you, sir. You’ve been such a good master." 

Ramsay entered his ass with a soft squelching noise. The sound only continued as Ramsay thrust in and out of him, and Reek could feel the liquid leaking slowly from his ass and onto Mr. Bolton’s table.

His insides burned again now, but it was endurable. The shame of what would come was not. It was only a matter of time till he would hear the car in the driveway, and they’d see him spread and fucked on the table. Ramsay seemed not to care about any of it, wholly possessed by their new game.

“I ought to just stuff you like this every year,” Ramsay sighed. “This is far better than my father’s stupid tree.”

He held Reek with little effort, his chest now flushed in his arousal. He was yet to break a hard sweat, but as he would continue, Reek would recognize the stages of his pleasure. As he grew closer to climax his thick chest and shoulders would grow moist with sweat and his dark hair would stick to the sides of his head. If he were in a kind mood, he would collapse across Reek with no further notice.

The table was hard beneath him, and it took some maneuvering to not collide with the turkey as Ramsay pounded away. Reek tried wriggling against Ramsay to bring the process along, but it seemed to have little effect. Getting Ramsay to climax then cleaning the kitchen was the only real chance he had.

“As long as you keep me…. you can do whatever you want to me,” Reek blurted out between thrusts. “Fuck me, carve me, whatever you want.”

There was a noise outside. The offer of violence seemed to help, but Reek suspected it was too late. His heart pounded in his chest, and he broke into tears again.

“Please, Ramsay. Please come inside me,” he huffed.

The front door swung open and they were in full view as he pleaded Ramsay to finish. 

Roose Bolton was dressed in a finely tailored charcoal suit with incredibly crisp lines. This was juxtaposed by the incredibly gaudy sweater he had on with it that Walda had selected, depicting a sequined rotund snowman amidst all kinds of winter merriment. In his arms were two re-used Whole Foods bags full of firewood and a single bottle of red wine. Walda stood behind him in a bright pink dress, puffy coat and flapped winter hat that the she and all the other Freys had variations on from one Seven’s Graces long ago.

Roose’s hand immediately flew over Walda’s eyes.

“My cornucopia!” she exclaimed, aghast.

Ramsay looked over his shoulder as he pulled out, still partially erect.

“Nice sweater, asshole,” he quipped. 

Reek wanted to die more thoroughly than he had ever had before.

“Put some clothes on and meet me in the car,” Roose said. There was no hint of rage in his voice, only a subtle tinge of disappointment. “Greyjoy, go to the guest bathroom and clean yourself off. Walda will help you if you need it. It’s not like you have a cock to be embarrassed about her seeing.”

Roose stepped towards his room, entirely ignoring Reek. Ramsay smirked at Walda as he got dressed, while Reek scurried around to grab his clothes and head upstairs.

“Who’s bigger, the old man or me?” Ramsay joked. Walda just glowered at him and defensively wrapped an arm around Reek. Ramsay would likely beat him for obeying his father later, but for now it was nice to be away from both he and his father.

Walda looked back morosely at the ruined cornucopia before they headed upstairs, shaking her head.

“Hasn’t he told you? It’s more about how you use it,” Walda mused, looking Ramsay eye. She kept her usual upbeat tone. “But for the record, he’s bigger.”

Ramsay seemed genuinely off put by Walda’s comment. Something told Reek she’d struck closer to home than he had.

“It’ll be alright, Theon. We’ll get you cleaned up and they’ll figure out someway to move past this, or at least tolerate each other, like they always do,” Walda urged. The gentleness in her voice rendered a primal ache in his chest. There was no reason for her to be kind.

“I hope so….” 

Walda began a hot bath for him and offered a variety of soaps and scrubs Amy had sent her from an organic spa she’d become obsessed with. She also tentatively left a laxative amongst the array of items. She was right, it might be best to clear out whatever Ramsay had shoved inside him that way as opposed to the enema which was neither effective for such things nor something he wanted to repeat any time soon. 

Reek sunk into the bath, his muscles relaxing instantly.

“You remember what the Father’s role is don’t you?” Walda sighed. Reek nodded. The Father brought the Seven’s justice.


	2. Chapter 2

The car ride between Roose and Ramsay was silent. If his father wasn’t going to talk neither was he. His father sat in stern silence, his profile hard and unchanging. A bottle of red wine sat between them in the cup holder, along with a small prescription bottle of some kind. As they pulled up to the road end before the grove, Roose reached over Ramsay to pull a plastic cup out of the glove box, and a small multi function knife.

“Go on. Pour yourself a cup,” he ordered.

Ramsay shrugged. Whatever the old fuck had in mind it was probably going to incredibly grating so wine wasn’t a bad idea. It didn’t look cheap either.

As Ramsay began to uncork the bottle Roose opened the smaller container and poured the dark clear liquid into the cup while looking at Ramsay. His pale eyes were hard and unforgiving. It probably wouldn’t kill him.

“You started dinner without us,” Roose offered idly. Ramsay smirked as Roose slowly eyed him over. 

“I don’t care to ask what else you ingested. I can imagine.”

Ramsay poured himself as much wine as the cup would hold, ignoring the derision in his father’s voice.

As Roose rose from the car, Ramsay chugged down the wine.

“What the fuck is in this?” Ramsay asked. Despite the strength of the wine, whatever Roose had added tasted disgusting. Far worse than anything he’d shared with Reek that evening. 

Roose didn’t bother turning to face Ramsay, and instead looked ahead to where the weirwood lay, it’s red leaves rustling in the dark.

“Ipecac syrup. You should start to the feel the effects soon,” Roose answered, beginning to walk towards the tree.

Ramsay trailed after him, determined to win whatever his father was playing at. The two of them trudged across the shallow snow. The weirwood fanned out above them. All around them was desolation and silence. Ramsay’s tongue felt dry, and the rotten flavor still hung in his mouth.

“I’m not the boy you make me out to be,” Ramsay insisted, realizing how absurd he likely sounded. His father had walked in on him balls deep in Reek, across the holiday table after all.

“I had treated you as a man.”

Roose looked up at the weirwoods branches, his arms crossed behind his back. He was utterly infuriating like this. Ramsay thought about kicking him in the shins, but thought better of it.

“You were to come swear your promises before the weirwood,” Roose continued. “As a man of our family does.”

The foul taste had only grown worse and Ramsay began to gag as his father spoke. Roose ignored this. Ramsay swigged down more of the wine, but even with a mouthful the taste of the syrup was incurable.

Ramsay grabbed at his stomach, as he felt increasingly nauseous. He’d vomited from drinking before, but this felt far worse. His throat was already flexing, and it was as if someone were tying his intestines in knots.

Roose looked over his shoulder as Ramsay bent over and braced himself against his thighs.

“Your mother’s husband is buried here. Did you know that?”

Ramsay began to vomit with a force unlike anything he’d ever experienced. The pain of it brought him to his knees, clutching at the tree for support. The smell was rancid, but the sight of it made his stomach turn again.

“You ought to be beside him,” Roose added. His father moved quickly. There was a sharp pain in his ribs as Roose kicked him to the ground.

Ramsay lay face down in his own vomit now, his body pressed against the roots of the weirwood. As he began to throw up again, his father’s heel dug into the blades of his shoulder making him spasm as he retched. 

Ramsay let out a broken laugh. Walda knew what she was talking about after all.

“Is this how you like it, daddy? Gods you’re worse than I--”

Roose pressed him further down, into the cold ground. His nipples grew hard as his clothes soaked, while steam rose from where his vomit and snow mingled. 

“I have no interest in embarrassing myself, or participating in your diversions. I am here to make a point. Walda’s a willing and pleasant wife. You are only what you make of yourself.” 

His father leaned over and grabbed him by the hair, arching his spine painfully against the point where he had pinned him.

“When you’re done, we will go home, and you’ll apologize to Walda. You can do as you like with your Reek. See that it doesn’t interfere with my plans again.”

Ramsay heaved again as his father let him loose. The only thing more annoying than his father’s attitude was how hard Ramsay had become over the course of their talk.

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider the Adult Swim song "Stuff It In The Cornucopia," in conjunction with this fic: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ynkOHDciqpc


End file.
